It all started when she drifted to unconsciousness.
Frisk barely remembers the fact that she had been sleeping under the weight of two massive duvet covers, and hugging as much stuff toys as she could fit around her tiny arms. She hadn't even changed out of her striped shirt, slacks, and boots that she had worn to school today. All she knows is that she had to drown out the screams that her parents were making—cancel out all the curses and the slurs and the sounds of various objects shattering.
It all started when tears started trickling down her cheeks.
In the midst of all the muffled arguments, she could hear the sound of her tears dripping onto her pillow. It was an unrhythmic, heavy drip, drip sound, until it turned to a steady stream of bitterness and confusion.
It all started when she was determined to escape this hell of a home.
Don't get her wrong, she was still ultimately hopeful that everything would turn out to be okay in the end. She yearns for the days that when she would cry, it would be because of wounds gotten from playing outside rather than cowering from the threatening sounds coming from the kitchen. She yearns for the days that when she would look for comfort, it would be found in the arms of her parents and not in the synthetic fur of Mr. Buttercup.
She has told herself countless times: stay determined. It wasn't too late to give up home to still have a happy family.
Right?
As she fell into the dark recesses of her own mind, a mountain of gaping insecurities and countless illusive daydreams, she felt her own hopes and dreams slip from her grasp.
For a moment there was nothing. Just peace and serenity in a world of darkness…
No dreams, just the existence of nothing…
…and then she woke up to a patch of vividly yellow buttercups beneath her.